Three Years Ago
by autumnskyhill
Summary: Hermione meets up with her ex three years after one fateful day. Old feelings emerge, and crying ensues. I'm too exhausted to write a proper summary, but basically,its a bit different from my other works. So, Read and Review! One-shot.


Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter and co., I would not be sitting here, typing up _fan_fiction on Microsoft Word. I would be out spending all the money I would make from owning HP, and then coming home to my big mansion (that I would buy with all the money I would make from owning HP) to write short stories involving PG-13 actions. Alas, I do not own Harry Potter and co. So, I can only sit here typing up fanfiction on Microsoft Word and accepting the fact that Harry Potter will most likely not be very PG-13 when it comes to the physical things, and such. Ehem, hem.

It's been years since I last saw him. It has been three long, dragging, are-we-there-yet years. But now, there he is. In front of me. He is standing in the early December snow, his footprints clear and obviously freshly made. He is wearing the same outfit he wore the last time we met—rich, green dress robes aligned with flying, swooping dragons, and expensive shoes. I absently notice that the shoes are new. He always was a fan of purchasing footwear. Fortunately, he does not notice my gaze. He is concentrating on the window display of Quintin's Quidditch Quarters. It was a fairly new Quidditch supply shop, just opened three years ago, actually. This year, they had put the latest broom on display, and surrounded it with mannequins dressed in fine Quidditch uniforms, ranging from a deep burgundy to the lightest sky-blue imaginable. I was focusing so hard on the display, I didn't notice when he moved to stand behind me, his hands wrapping around my waist. I was knocked off my well-trained high horse for a moment. For a moment, I leant against him, and inhaled deeply. Yep, he still smelled the same. But then I caught myself. I reminded myself who this was, and what he had done to me three years before. I quickly push his binding arms away, and whip around to face him. I give him the glare that I had practiced and perfected just for this occasion. For a split second, a look of hurt seems to cross his eyes. But having mastered the art of occlumency, he hides it behind a blank expression before I can be one hundred percent sure. Just then, I realized how close I was to him. It had been ages since we were at such close proximity. Before I could react, he leant down and whispered in my ear.

"Hello, Hermione." And that's all it took.

Memories that I had worked so hard, and so long, to forget came flooding back in bucket-loads. Unfortunately, I was not quite as talented when it came to disguising my emotions. I knew that he could see right through my carefully constructed wall, and he knew that I knew. I had not counted on giving in so easily without so much as a two-word sentence, but then again, I was always told that I was just a big softie when it came to romantic relationships. But then again, the relationship that we had was not romantic; at least not in the typical romance-novel ways. There were no candle-lit dinners, or bouquets of roses. In fact, there was very little giving on his part. For him, it was always about taking. Take, take, take. He had grown up learning to take, and never give back. Oh, of course, there was the occasional diamond necklace that made me gasp and babble incorrigibly, and the nightly kiss that he made sure was thorough enough to take my breath away, but that was all. It seemed that he had never been giving me as much love as I gave him. Every time I said those three words (that ancient phrase with the big 'L' word), he would say it back, of course, but it seemed half-hearted, as if he was thinking about something else. As if he was wishing he were somewhere else, instead of helping his Muggle born girlfriend decorate her flat for the holidays. I was so caught up with my flurry of thoughts, I did not notice the tear that trickled down my cheek. But he did. Of course he did. His blank eyes softened, and he studied my face. It was as if he was taking a picture with his eyes. I had always loved his eyes. And he knew it. He always knew it. More tears streamed down my face. Thank Merlin I had chosen to go natural, leaving off the usual mascara and rogue (he said he liked it better when I didn't have "all that nasty muck" on my face), otherwise my face would have looked like a Picasso painting. He hesitantly raised a gloved hand and touched my cheek. I closed my eyes. His hand was cool against my hot cheek. And it just made me cry harder because I remembered the last time we met…

He had owled me the day before (Friday, right before our first Hogsmeade trip) to tell me that he wanted to meet me in front of the Three Broomsticks. It was our sixth year, and we had managed to form a rocky friendship (for the good of our houses, we had said). Of course, that rocky friendship developed into something more, until finally, he confessed that he was attracted to me. He did not outright say that he liked me, because it just was not his way of doing things. Oh no, he had to make everything more complicated, trickier. Eventually, he spilled his safely guarded secret, and I learned to like him as well. And it had always been 'like', never 'love', until a few weeks before his owl. All was going well, and I, like the love-struck silly schoolgirl I was, was a fool to miss the signs of an oncoming storm. It was like a game of Tetris. The decision had to be made fast, before the blocks hit the ground. I made the decision to accept him without question, because I (secretly, of course) liked him too. But I learned my lesson. So, on that fateful night-before-it-all-came-apart, I owled him back and agreed to meet him at the designated spot.

The next day, I awoke early, and took a shower, got dressed in the outfit that he said he loved on me, and left. I had not bothered to apply make-up because he had told me before that he liked me better that way. I grabbed my coat, said good-bye to Harry and Ron (they eventually accepted the budding relationship, although with _plenty_ of reluctance, hesitation, and of course, bribery), and left.

When I arrived in front of the Three Broomsticks, he was already there, dressed in his nice green dress robes, the ones that were embroidered with dragons, and expensive shoes. His hands were gloved, and his hair blew freely in the winter wind. The ground was blanketed with the results of the first snowstorm of the year, and I remember how I thought he looked so absolutely irresistible standing there, in the middle of it all. That time, he did catch my gaze. He gave me a smug smile, and motioned for me to go closer. I obeyed. He leant down to kiss me, and as always, he made it thorough. When we broke apart, I was panting. He, however, remained as composed and collected as he always did, not even so much as a slight blush. Apparently, he did not blush very easily. He smiled at me again, and each time he did that, my heart melted a tiny bit more. He tilted his head to the side, his warm breath fanning my ear. "Hello, Hermione," he had whispered. I had sighed, enjoying his nearness. He smiled at me, then took my hand. "Come on, there's a new Quidditch shop opening, I hear there is quite a commotion," he explained, leading me away from the busy pub. Then, in that soft whisper of his, he added, "And afterwards, we can go down one of the alleys… Get some peace and quiet…" I shivered at his words, catching the subtle innuendo.

Minutes later, we stood in front of Quintin's Quidditch Quarters. A horde of people, mainly aspiring Quidditch players, stood at the store's entrance, oohing and aahing over the impressive window display. It was the Grand Opening, and Quintin, the founder and owner of the shop, was raffling off a two-hundred and fifty galleon gift certificate. The man did know how to attract customers. Just as I began zoning out, he led me away. He led me to one of those alleys, and I expected him to kiss me, like he usually did on weekends like this. But he didn't. He conjured up two chairs, and motioned for me to have a seat. Right away, I knew there was something wrong. There was a faint tugging at the corners of my mind, telling me to open my eyes and take cover from the developing storm, but I disregarded it, and put on a smile. "What's bothering you?" I asked, trying to figure out what was wrong. But as always, he would not let his thoughts be known. He put his head in his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. Then, lightning-fast, he lifted his head and looked up at me. "It's over," he said, his eyes focused on his shoes. "I-I don't want to see you anymore." I didn't need to be told twice. I was not the type of girl who begged for a second chance or cried and demanded to know where I had gone wrong. I abruptly stood up, and took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. Then, forcing myself to smile, I replied, "I should've known it wouldn't last." His eyes shot up, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't stay to listen. I picked up the broken pieces of my heart and ran as fast as I could.

Now, three years later, here we are again. In front of Quintin's, and he's moving to take my hand again, to lead me to that same alley where he ended things with me. I swallowed my tears, and gave him a small smile. He looked at me, and I knew he was not fooled. I never was any good at hiding my true feelings. With a sigh, he let my hand drop back to my side, and he turned me around to face him. I looked up at him, and right away I knew that it was a mistake. There he was again, melting my heart again, and right after I had finally managed to mend it from the last time. Here I was again, falling in love with him. Again. I could feel tears building in my eyes again (what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I stop crying?), but he wiped them away before they could fall.

"Listen, I know I've done so many things that have hurt you in the past, and I fully understand if you will never forgive me for those things, but please, consider giving me a second chance. Please?" his eyes bore holes into mine, and I could feel myself surrendering. But for once, I managed to hide it away, behind my own blank expression, and I stared back at him, defiantly refusing to say anything. He sighed again, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, they sparkled with emotion. For once, he was not trying to hide anything. He did not mask his feelings with a blank wall. He looked at me, and said those three words (the one involving the big 'L' word), "I love you."

Only this time, I could tell that he meant it. He truly, honestly meant it. I could see it in his eyes. I took down the wall I had built and threw my arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. No matter how hard I tried, I could not forget him. I could not forget the way I loved him, and even though I tried so, _so_ hard to deny it, I had missed this. I had missed being on the receiving end of his embrace.

So I voiced the only thought that was running through my mind.

"I love you too, Draco."


End file.
